


Muted Dialogue

by dailuzo



Category: B.A.P, K-pop
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-08
Updated: 2014-01-08
Packaged: 2018-01-08 00:54:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1126455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dailuzo/pseuds/dailuzo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They're in love but they aren't friends, and maybe that's the problem.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Muted Dialogue

Junhong appears on his doorstep two days after Christmas, armed with nothing more than the clothes he’s wearing, a cap and probably a wallet somewhere in his pocket. Youngjae isn’t _completely_ surprised. Junhong is a sweet kid, sure, but being nice doesn’t mean that he’s beyond running away from home.  
  
This is all some kind of phase; a teenage rebellion thing. Junhong probably just wants an adventure or whatever. Youngjae isn’t the type to pry.  
  
So he pauses instead, stares in disbelief for about half a second because that’s probably what he’s supposed to do, then just shrugs and opens the door wider, giving enough room for the younger boy to slip inside.  
  
“Hyung,” Junhong says casually, like he didn’t just appear out of thin air, “Hi.”  
  
Youngjae raises an eyebrow. Junhong grins, for some odd reason, like he was expecting the reaction.  
  
“Should I ask, or will I just be wasting my breath?” is what he says finally, when it becomes evident that the other boy isn’t going to offer an explanation.  
  
Junhong shrugs. It’s not really an answer, but he knows him well enough to take it as a no. He doesn’t push.  
  
Junhong peers behind Youngjae’s back, head slightly tilted.  
  
“Yeah, mom’s there. Cooking dinner,” he explains, unprompted, “Stay for the meal. I bet she’ll be delighted. She’s been saying we don’t appreciate her cooking enough.”  
  
The discomfort that crosses the younger boy’s features is too evident to be missed—and that’s just confusing, really, because what did Junhong come all the way here for anyway if he wasn’t planning to stay?  
  
“I can’t—”  
  
“You can,” he cuts him off, because he’s really not in the mood for pointless arguments, “There’s more than enough for everyone. Don’t worry about it.”  
  
Junhong blinks, something he always does when he’s nervous, but nods anyway. It’s a slow gesture, hesitant, but it’s there and Youngjae’s just happy that he even gets a response.  
  
He tells his mom about their surprise guest a few minutes later, and though she definitely isn’t expecting it, she’s more than pleased at the thought of having more company. It gets worse when he informs her that Junhong is still in high school ( _final year_ , Junhong hastily adds, as if it makes a whole lot of difference), and she practically coos over him.  
  
“Are you staying the night?” she asks, eyes bright, and Youngjae can almost imagine her stuffing Junhong half to death with desserts.  
  
Junhong opens his mouth, denial at the very tip of his tongue, but Youngjae answers for him.  
  
“Yeah, he is.”  
  
He pointedly ignores the helpless looks Junhong shoots his way.  
  
His mom is so delighted she ends up pinching Junhong’s cheeks—much to the boy’s chagrin and Youngjae’s amusement—and she leaves the two with a promise that she’ll cook something extra special.  
  
“She loves you already,” Youngjae notes somewhat bitterly, and Junhong laughs.  
  
They end up waiting in his bedroom, with him sprawled out on the bed and Junhong looking through the pile of junk on his desk curiously. It’s not until a little later, when Junhong self-declares that he’s entitled to rummage through Youngjae’s drawers, that he realizes it’s Junhong’s first time in his house. He wonders if he should make some sort of effort; be a good host and all that nonsense. But then Junhong decides to manically laugh at his horrible choice of underwear, so Youngjae just stops trying.  
  
(In his defense, he only bought those floral-patterned briefs because his mom wouldn’t shut up about it.)  
  
“If you don’t stop laughing, I swear I’ll force you to wear those tomorrow.”  
  
Junhong gulps down a laugh. Youngjae nods, satisfied.  
  
Then:  
  
“I didn’t bring anything over.”  
  
Youngjae stares at him like he thinks he’s stupid.  
  
“I’m not blind, thank you very much.” Junhong frowns. Not for the first time, Youngjae discovers that the other boy is much dimmer than he gives him credit for. And to think that he actually thought that there’s a limit to stupidity. “The clothes might be a tight fit, but that’s your own fault for failing to stop your growth spurt.”  
  
Junhong smiles then, but says nothing.  
  
Youngjae thinks he hears a _thank you_ anyways.

 

-

  
They fought over the bed using rock paper scissors and unsurprisingly, Youngjae and his rotten luck leads him to spend the night on a mattress laid out on his own bedroom floor.  
  
It’s way past midnight. Neither of them are asleep. Junhong is lying on the bed, mindlessly flipping through one of Youngjae’s biology textbooks. Youngjae isn’t sure what he’s planning to achieve (the boy’s not even into science), but he doesn’t wreck his head thinking about it. Junhong has always been kind of odd.  
  
Or maybe he’s just treating it as a bedtime story, in which case Youngjae has to wonder why he isn’t asleep already.  
  
“Remember to turn the lights off after you’re done doing whatever you’re doing.”  
  
A slight pause, then the book is closed shut as Junhong sets it aside.  
  
“You can turn off the lights now, if you want.”  
  
Youngjae frowns.  
  
“You do it. You’re the reason it’s still on.”  
  
“Don’t be a brat, hyung, you’re closer to the switch,” Junhong points out, and even though it’s true Youngjae feels like smacking his head anyways, “And besides, if I get out from the bed I’ll probably step on you.”  
  
It’s another way of saying that his room is pitifully small. That’s another true fact, sadly, but he doesn’t appreciate the comment being given by a freeloader. He throws a pillow at Junhong’s face before going off to flip the switch, not bothering to check if it hits. The surprised yelp is a pretty good hint though, so he’s pretty much satisfied.  
  
“Goodnight,” he hears Junhong say, and he makes a small sound from the back of his throat in reply.  
  
Twenty minutes later, Youngjae’s still awake and he blames it all on the floor. The mattress helps, of course—it more or less lessens the discomfort—but it isn’t very thick and there’s still this sense of something hard lodged between his backbones. He tosses and turns to try to find a position that’ll give the least pain, but the only thing he manages to end up with is a choice between sacrificing his back or his hips, neither of which he’s particularly fond of.  
  
He groans, frustrated, and that’s when Junhong flops down beside him.  
  
“What on earth are you doing?” he says as the boy creeps under his blanket, making himself comfortable.  
  
“Trying to sleep?” Junhong replies, and he hates how Junhong makes it sound like he just asked something completely ridiculous.  
  
“Here?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
If it isn’t for the fact that it’s much too dark for him to see anything, much less Junhong’s head, he would have given him an incredulous stare. Not that it would make a lot of difference, because Junhong would just stare back blankly anyways.  
  
“If you’re not going to utilise the bed, I’ll help myself.”  
  
Youngjae sits up, thanking the stars for creating Junhong as a child who’s apparently weird enough to give comfort for god knows what, before a hand grabs his and tugs down hard enough that he’s sent toppling back to where he started.  
  
There’s a pause as Youngjae blinks, dazed. As soon as he comes back to his senses, though, he clutches the pillow underneath his palm and sends it flying in the other boy’s direction. He sees it hit this time, but it doesn’t count because Junhong has a blanket wrapped around himself, creating a protective layer.  
  
It doesn’t stop Youngjae from grabbing another pillow and whacking him. Repeatedly.  
  
“You—” he fumes, scrambling for the blanket to try to get it off, “—are _such_ a _brat_.”  
  
“Ow!” the boy cries out, “Stop it, hyung, this is child abuse!”  
  
He doesn’t know how long they spent wrapped up in their mini pillow fight before they finally collapse on the mattress in a messy heap, tired and out of breath. Junhong’s laughing, the idiot, but Youngjae has kind of lost the right to give him hell for it because he can’t quite stop his own lips from quirking upwards.  
  
“Okay, really, what are you up to?” he asks again in between breaths, “And if you give me some cheesy answer like ‘I’m actually afraid of the dark’, I’ll throw you out of the house.”  
  
Junhong frowns, trying to look annoyed. But this is Junhong he’s dealing with so it looks more like a pout. Youngjae tries not to laugh.  
  
“I’m not a girl.”  
  
“You’re acting like one.”  
  
“I just want to sleep,” Junhong tells him, and he’s grinning again, “Honest.”  
  
Youngjae is prepared to counter with a witty retort, he swears, but Junhong’s fingers find his own, his thumb rubbing back and forth against his palm, and the words die in his throat. Despite the intimate gesture, Junhong seems pretty intent on looking away, so Youngjae decides to stare at the ceiling, even as he fills the intervals between Junhong’s fingers.  
  
If Junhong notices the sudden silence, he doesn’t comment on it.  
  
They stay that way for a long while, and Junhong is half asleep when Youngjae speaks.  
  
“This is sappy,” he remarks dryly, “We’re so awkward.”  
  
Junhong’s tired laugh sounds like a yawn, so Youngjae smiles and squeezes his hand.

 

-

  
He hates to admit it, but Junhong doesn’t fit in his clothes. Not in the least.  
  
They’re (ever so slightly) bigger on the waist and (just a tiny bit) shorter on the height. And Youngjae doesn’t want to care, really, but Junhong looks so evidently uncomfortable that even he feels rather remorseful about it.  
  
“How much money do you have?” he asks later in the morning after breakfast.  
  
Junhong looks at him, impassive, before digging into his pocket and handing him his wallet. Youngjae’s rather impressed, to say the least. He doesn’t expect Junhong to have much at all, but his wallet does appear to be on the fat side. Maybe Junhong finally learned to develop _some_ sense of responsibility. Whatever the reason, Youngjae’s pleased to know that all the years they spent hanging out with each other amounted to something.  
  
He’s glad he wasn’t hasty enough to say the words out loud, though, because Junhong still is a stupid, scamming idiot.  
  
The only reason why his wallet is so heavy is because he collects foreign coins, of all things, and as if that’s not bad enough, coins are the only thing he keeps. There isn’t a single banknote in sight.  
  
Youngjae sighs. He doesn’t even know why he built his hopes up.  
  
“Do you even have Korean money in there?”  
  
“I do!” Junhong says, slightly offended at Youngjae’s (lack of) surprise.  
  
“Really?” Youngjae looks at him, dubious, “How much?”  
  
“… 5000 won?”  
  
“Helpful.”  
  
“Well, it’s not like you’re doing any better.”  
  
Youngjae gives him a look. Junhong shrugs and shuts up.  
  
It’s rather embarrassing to admit, but even after enrolling into university, Youngjae is still dependant on the parent-given monthly allowance as his only source of income. Most of his friends are taking up part time jobs left and right—Daehyun even mentioned an opening at his workplace if Youngjae is ever interested; the pay there is supposedly quite good—but since he’s never really felt a pressing need for extra cash, Youngjae doesn’t bother.  
  
He sure can use some now, though. After splurging on a bundle of unnecessary R&B albums last week, the only thing he has left is his emergency money. And no matter what Junhong claims, the sight of him walking around looking like a total clown doesn’t amount to an emergency.  
  
“Fine,” Junhong grumbles, tugging his cap—probably the only thing Youngjae owns that fits him well—lower to cover his eyes. Moping, most likely. “Leave me to rot in your sorry excuse for clothes.”  
  
“Don’t blame it on me. _You_ ’re the baby giant,” Youngjae accuses, hands crossed against his chest, “And you didn’t even think about getting new clothes until I mentioned it! This is what I get for being nice.”  
  
“Nice? If you hadn’t brought it up, I wouldn’t have hoped. So yeah, this is all completely your fault.”  
  
Brat. Junhong is such a _brat_. Youngjae doesn’t know why he tries.  
  
At times like these, having a dependable older brother figure is a lifesaver.  
  
“You need money for _what_?”  
  
“I told you, it’s for Junhong,” Youngjae explains into the mouth of the receiver, “The kid’s a freaking mutant. If he grows some more he won’t even be able to walk through doors without crouching.”  
  
On the other end of the line, he hears Yongguk sigh.  
  
There are a million ways in which Youngjae knows Yongguk, and nearly all of them involve Junhong in one manner or another. Yongguk is Junhong’s childhood friend, for example. He’s also Junhong’s self-appointed caretaker, his rapping partner, his ‘older brother’, his confidante… The kid practically idolises the guy, and for good reason. Yongguk is one of the most reliable guys around.  
  
(Now that he thinks about it, Junhong probably would have been way better off seeking shelter under Yongguk than running off to him.)  
  
“Junhong’s with you?” Yongguk asks. He sounds both relieved and tired all at the same time.  
  
“Yeah. Popped out of nowhere.”  
  
“Can you tell him to check his phone? What’s the point of having one if he doesn’t use it?”  
  
“Give me a second,” Youngjae covers the receiver with the palm of his hand before turning his attention to Junhong sitting on the living room couch, eyes completely focused on the soccer match showing on television. “Yongguk-hyung wants to know what happened to your phone.”  
  
“Out of battery,” Junhong replies easily.  
  
“Charge it, you idiot.”  
  
“Yeah sure, later. Don’t think I brought the charger though.”  
  
Youngjae goes back to the phone.  
  
“Just assume his phone is permanently off. That’s what I do.” Another sigh. Youngjae hesitates. “Did anyone contact you?”  
  
“His mom cried her eyes out while on the phone with me, if that’s what you’re asking.”  
  
“A fight?”  
  
Yongguk doesn’t answer straight away. The silence is oddly disconcerting.  
  
“You should talk to him.”  
  
“He doesn’t want to talk.”  
  
“Did you try asking?”  
  
“Not directly.”  
  
“Maybe you should.”  
  
As if on reflex, Youngjae turns to gaze at Junhong, who in turn peers at him curiously. He smiles and shakes his head. Junhong frowns, confused, but doesn’t seem to think much of it as he looks at the television again.  
  
Junhong is very much like him when it comes to this: neither of them are the type to pry.  
  
“Maybe.”  
  
Maybe not.

 

-

  
The amount of money Yongguk transfers to Youngjae’s account several minutes later is enough to keep Junhong fed for a few months—a year even, if Junhong decides to be particular about his spending habits.  
  
Junhong feels bothered enough to snatch Youngjae’s phone away and use it to call the man again. Youngjae doesn’t particularly care, too busy staring at his online account balance in disbelief.  
  
“I don’t need it, hyung,” he hears Junhong saying from behind the door. (What’s the use of retreating to the toilet for a ‘private’ conversation anyway when the walls aren’t even soundproof?)  
  
Whatever Yongguk’s reply was, it obviously wasn’t satisfying enough because Junhong comes back with an expression darker than the one he wore before, mouth clamped shut and brows furrowed.  
  
“Keep it,” Junhong tells him when he asks how much cash the younger wants to keep on hand, “Give it back or whatever. I don’t care.”  
  
Youngjae is as curious as hell, but at the rate Junhong’s mood is falling he’ll probably have a better time prying answers out of Yongguk. (And that’s saying a lot, because Yongguk has always been an advocate of privacy and effective communication. Definitely not the type that would easily spill.)  
  
“Don’t be ridiculous. We’re at least taking some for your clothes,” Youngjae retorts lightly, “That was the whole point of the call.”  
  
Junhong doesn’t look like he’s all too keen on the idea, but he says nothing as Youngjae drags him from the house all the way to Seoul’s busy shopping districts.  
  
They spend more time bickering over what to buy than doing the actual buying, but four walk ins and a thousand arguments later they’re armed with two shopping bags and two subway tickets back home. Junhong is more or less back to normal now—or at least that’s what Youngjae presumes when the younger seemingly has no qualms over using Yongguk’s money to fund for their outrageous lunch bill.  
  
He probably thinks that spending recklessly out of spite is a good form of revenge. It's overwhelmingly childish, but Youngjae isn't about to say anything, especially not when he's benefiting from the whole scenario.  
  
Junhong stops by a convenience store on their way back home from the station and comes back out with several packets of instant noodles.  
  
”Where’d you get the money?” Youngjae asks, because he’s the one holding to all the cash and Junhong definitely didn’t ask him for any.  
  
The younger boy blinks.  
  
“I still have some on me, remember?”  
  
Oh. The 5000 won.  
  
Youngjae pulls a face.  
  
“You’re leeching off my mom’s cooking and you’re still buying that?”  
  
Junhong looks at the bag in his hand and shrugs.  
  
Once they’re back and Junhong is in the shower, though, Youngjae finds the packets of ramyeon again on his study table, neatly tied together with a piece of fancy red ribbon this time, with a card that says in Junhong’s messy handwriting: _Happy belated Christmas, hyung_.  
  
( _And Happy New Year too_ is added in a hurried scribble, like a delayed afterthought.)  
  
Youngjae can’t decide whether he should laugh or be insulted, so instead he leaves the wrapped up R &B albums on the bed and writes back (on a piece of used paper that he used to doodle the molecular structure of water): _Happy belated Christmas to you too. And I wouldn’t have spent so much on you if I knew you were going to give me something cheap, idiot._  
  
Junhong comes back, notices the gift, rips it open but says absolutely nothing, so Youngjae doesn’t either.  
  
Still, later that night, as Youngjae is slurping through his midnight snack while doing some studying, Junhong turns to him and asks, “Do you have a CD player?”  
  
Youngjae hands it over wordlessly, and Junhong ends up listening to the tracks until his eyes finally droops closed and Youngjae has to go and turn the player off for him.

 

-

  
“Is Junhong there?” is what Daehyun greets him with before he can even attempt to muster a ‘hello’, and Youngjae contemplates cutting him off just to prove a point.  
  
“Yeah, nice to hear from you too.”  
  
Daehyun’s cheerful voice fills his ears as the other boy laughs. Youngjae hates to admit it, but Daehyun is unfortunately his annoying best friend and it’s ridiculously hard not to miss the boy’s steady presence when he’s not around.  
  
They were roommates back in their first year of uni; would have continued being apartment mates too if it weren’t for the fact that Daehyun values comfort above all other conveniences and, being an early riser, doesn’t mind the fact that the space he’s renting is nearly an hour away from school. Youngjae, unfortunately, wasn't born with the gift of being a morning positivist, so after rejecting Daehyun's offer for a 'continued companionship', he finds a private room in campus. It's way smaller than the space a rented apartment would have provided him with, but at least he makes it to all the lectures.  
  
Last he heard, Daehyun is still searching for Youngjae's replacement. Youngjae isn't surprised: no sane person would be willing to commute that far every single day.  
  
But the two of them still hang out a lot, and Daehyun crashes his place more often than he should when deadlines are nearing because he’s just an irresponsible bastard that way.  
  
“Hello!” Daehyun hollers. Youngjae pulls the receiver away from his ear and cringes. “So, is he there?”  
  
“I’m not his keeper,” Youngjae grumbles under his breath, but it’s apparently loud enough for Daehyun to hear, because the other boy laughs again.  
  
“Say whatever you want, but you’re practically the only method of reaching him right now.”  
  
“Because he’s stupid enough to leave his charger at home,” Youngjae jabs, but his tone lacks bite. “How’d you find out he’s here anyway?”  
  
“Himchan-hyung.”  
  
“Ah.”  
  
Of course. Himchan, that one naggy friend that everyone has who also happens to be the person that Yongguk, for whatever reason, trusts with all his problems. Himchan’s not a blabbermouth—not in the general sense—but he does have a tendency to try and ‘fix’ things, and his attempts of making everything better includes enlisting other people to help… which in this case means Daehyun.  
  
And that’s what Junhong’s status seems to have elevated to: a problem. There’s no other way of explaining the two hour nagging session Himchan had greeted Junhong with this morning. Courtesy of Youngjae’s phone, no less.  
  
Not that it seemed to work on Junhong in any way. Junhong, who had yawned and half slept though the entire session until Himchan’s high-pitched shriek finally jolted him out of his slumber.  
  
(Youngjae’s only glad that Himchan’s the one who’s footing the bill.)  
  
Youngjae makes a small sound under his breath to get Junhong’s attention before flinging the phone towards him. Junhong catches the device, looks at the caller ID, then pulls a face. Youngjae understands. He loves their circle of friends to death, but being told off by all of them one after another in rapid succession can’t be a very pleasant experience.  
  
He doubts that’s what Daehyun’s going to do, though. The guy barely has grips on his own life (if the mountainloads of assignments and the multitudes of missed meals mean anything), let alone Junhong’s.  
  
And true enough, Junhong is off the phone five minutes later after a bunch of yeahs and okays. He looks no different than he did before taking the call.  
  
“What did he say?” Youngjae asks, because he can’t help but be a little curious.  
  
“Daehyun-hyung? He told me to go home.”  
  
Youngjae blinks, unable to believe what he’s hearing.  
  
“Daehyun _lectured_ you?”  
  
“Yes. No. Not really,” Junhong fumbles around, flustered. “He did. In his own way, I guess. But it was just a sentence or two. Said Himchan-hyung had probably talked on behalf of everyone already. He mostly just said nonsense. It doesn’t really matter.”  
  
Youngjae’s eyes find Junhong’s, and the latter quickly looks away, opting to stare at the floor. Youngjae sighs.  
  
“You’d tell me if it’s important?”  
  
Junhong relaxes, his lips breaking into a small, hesitant grin.  
  
“Don’t I always?”  
  
It’s meant to be assuring, but the sentence is anything but.  
  
Because no, he doesn’t. Junhong never really tells him anything at all.

 

-

  
The thing about them is that there was no sudden moment of realisation or even the mildest hint of attraction. They just… happened, one way or another, which is rather funny because when they first met Youngjae remembers them not getting along.  
  
Not getting along isn’t the best way to describe it: they were just downright oblivious towards each other. Junhong was nothing more than Yongguk’s kid friend who happened to visit every now and then during the latter's song-writing tutoring sessions, while Youngjae is just that one geeky guy who’s way too passionate about atoms and molecules, but oddly takes music as a sub-unit.  
  
The one time Youngjae remembers acknowledging the kid is when Yongguk reveals that Junhong is from Mokpo, and is staying at the dorms of one of the most prestigious music school in Seoul under a scholarship.  
  
 _Kid must be a genius_ , he thought, _And pretty darn resilient_.  
  
Because he knows how nasty the competition can get in the school, knows because he might have considered attending it before at one point in his life before realising that he can only really devote his life wholeheartedly to one of his interests and gave it all up.  
  
But that was the extent of the ‘interaction’ he had with Junhong, if it can even be called that. They still saw each other sometimes whenever Youngjae went over to Yongguk’s, but they had never really exchanged anything beyond a few polite nods.  
  
Then one day, after being left in the room with Junhong for an extended period of time and somehow still managing to go through the whole ordeal without a single word leaving his mouth, Himchan stared at the two of them long and hard and announced:  
  
“You two are so damn awkward with each other.”  
  
Which would have meant nothing on its own, but then Daehyun suddenly started cackling and Jongup, Junhong’s friend from school, smiled that small knowing smile of his. Even Yongguk couldn’t stop the amusement from crossing his face as he grinned, gums and all.  
  
Junhong, at least, seemed as shocked as Youngjae was. They exchanged glances that meant something along the lines of _are we, really?_ because honestly, neither of them had ever really thought about it.  
  
“Have you ever even spoken to each other?” Himchan asked again, tone accusing, “ _Directly_.”  
  
No, he realized, and from the look of Junhong’s face he knew the kid only just noticed it too.  
  
“See?” Himchan says, clearly disapproving. Daehyun’s laughter turned more manic.  
  
The conversation ended with Youngjae declaring that he’d no longer help Daehyun with his last minute preparations for… well, pretty much everything, causing the other boy to choke on his own spit.  
  
Youngjae tried harder from then on, though. Partly because he’s the older one and thus should rightfully be the one taking the initiative, but mostly due to the fact that he was finding himself stuck with Junhong alone in Yongguk’s place more and more often, and he had a strong feeling that it had everything to do with Himchan.  
  
It was, for a lack of better word, awkward.  
  
“Yongguk-hyung talks a lot about you. Says you’re doing really well in what you do,” Youngjae mentioned offhandedly, when it became apparent that their four very dear friends’ ‘quick’ trip to convenience store was going to take a long while, “Do you sing?”  
  
“No, not really,” Junhong replied, eyes downcast. It almost seemed like he was speaking to the floor. “I rap. And dance a little. Jongup-hyung sings.”  
  
“Oh.”  
  
Youngjae doesn’t much care for rapping, and he might have danced a little back in high school for fun but it’s definitely not something he’d do as a pastime. He was pretty fond of singing—still is, if all those concerts he had in the shower count, though admittedly what had once been a pretty serious hobby is now nothing more than the occasional guilty pleasures dosed with whips of nostalgia.  
  
Of course, the only thing he can talk about without potentially straying off to the Land of Gibberish ended up to be the one aspect of music that Junhong was (relatively) disinterested in. Vocals are important, sure, but it wasn't something Junhong was in charge of. (Nor did he want to be, if the stricken expression Youngjae received when he asked about it was of any indication.)  
  
Honestly, God must think his irony-filled life is one big fat joke.  
  
Still, he didn’t think he would have fared much better even if they did have similar interests, because Junhong had a habit off steering the subject away from himself. _Yongguk-hyung raps too_ , he’d say, or _Jongup-hyung is a much better dancer_ and _Daehyun-hyung’s beat boxing isn’t half bad._  
  
“What about you?” Youngjae asked. It was funny how nothing ever seemed to be about the boy.  
  
Junhong brought his cap low enough to cover his eyes. Youngjae later discovered that it’s something he always does when he’s nervous or uncomfortable.  
  
“I’m okay.”  
  
And that was that.  
  
They somehow ended up exchanging CDs after, creating a topic of interest where there was none before. Junhong wasn’t so bad if you carefully direct him to talk about his musical inspirations. He also was far more talkative if Youngjae treated him to food.  
  
But nothing really started until Youngjae casually mentioned, several weeks later, that Junhong was welcomed to crash at his and Daehyun’s place whenever he decided not to go back home for the weekends or the short holidays.  
  
“The train fare to Mokpo is pretty expensive, right? Just drag your ass over to ours.”  
  
They weren’t _that_ close just yet, but apparently close enough for Junhong to look at him teasingly and joke, “So you can’t get a girl and now you’re inviting me over?”  
  
The good old days when Junhong would at least attempt to be cute when hurling him with insults.  
  
“Haha,” Youngjae deadpanned. “This is me being nice.”  
  
Junhong shrugged, but appeared later that weekend anyways.  
  
Something must have happened in between. Youngjae wasn’t the type to invite people he wasn’t comfortable with, and even if he could perhaps take a step back and blame the invitation on study-related stress—info overload can sometimes cause people to act mildly drunk, as Youngjae has experienced firsthand with Daehyun—Junhong at least wouldn’t ever dream of inviting himself unannounced to a place of someone he doesn’t think of as a friend.  
  
And, well, if they weren’t at least friends, they probably wouldn’t have ended up on the couch in the living room, the television turned on and ignored, their lips an inch apart from each other’s, excited, flustered and confused all at the same time.  
  
Youngjae would have said something practical like _you’re only sixteen, Junhong, we should stop_ instead of ending up a fumbling mess, scrambling at words that wouldn’t come and heart pounding so loudly he could barely hear anything else.  
  
(But he still could, of course. Stupid things like the hitch of his own breath, or Junhong’s shaky exhale.)  
  
And Junhong wouldn’t have smiled—looking more confident than Youngjae, for once, even when neither of them knew what the hell they were supposed to do—wouldn’t have told him _it’s okay, hyung_ , wouldn’t have pulled him down to link their lips together.  
  
Something must have happened, but for the life of him Youngjae can’t remember what.

 

-

  
On the night after Daehyun’s call, Junhong decides to go home.  
  
“Now?” Youngjae asks, maybe just a little bit stunned.  
  
Running away from home also means the absence of packing, and Junhong only needs to toss the things he bought in a single plastic bag for him to be ready. He pauses, though, fingers tracing the outline of the bag, and the hesitance he shows brushes off the guilt that Youngjae would get from holding him back.  
  
“You don’t have to,” is what he tells him, the closest thing to stay he can ever get without directly shirking his responsibilities as an older brother figure and therefore not encouraging any attempts towards reconciliation, “Maybe wait until you’re a bit more comfortable with the idea?”  
  
People often forget, because Youngjae is not the baby of the group and he definitely doesn’t go out of his way to act like one. But the truth is, though Youngjae might constantly remind Junhong that he’s a hyung to assert some form of authority over the latter, he’s only just two years older. And experience-wise, that’s not a lot at all. He acts on his whims more than he quashes them, chooses to think of the aftermath only when it’s staring at him right in the face: things foolish youngsters do, the thing that Junhong is probably doing to his parents.  
  
Junhong looks up to face him and smiles.  
  
“You shouldn’t be saying that,” he chides, and Youngjae hates him for it. He’s not sure whether it’s because Junhong can be sharp when he least expects him to be, or just the fact that Junhong can always see right through him.  
  
He doesn’t know how to tell Junhong that he apparently likes him enough to not want him to leave either, not without the whole speech descending into something cringeworthy. So Youngjae kisses him instead—the first time he does after Junhong appears at his door; or rather, the first time he does in a long while—except it’s not nearly as romantic as it sounds. Slamming one’s lips against another’s might sound exciting in fiction, but in real life Youngjae only succeeds in uncomfortably knocking their teeth together. The grunt that escapes Junhong when his back hits the door with a loud bang can’t be described to be anything other than pained, and contrary to popular belief it’s not easy to multitask when you’re all over each other, something that Youngjae finds out as Junhong softly pushes him away for a few seconds in favour of locking the door.  
  
They’re an endless bundle of awkward, but that’s nothing new. And he gets the message across, at the very least.  
  
They tend to end up this way at the most unlikely of places—the living room of his and Daehyun’s shared apartment, for instance, or if he wants the best example of horribly executed cliches, his parents are probably downstairs right now—but it’s never been about the thrill. Junhong is everything he appears to be during their first meeting two years back: shy, soft, and tender. He prefers light touches more than grips of passion, the slow stroking of his hair more than the tugging. His moves are calm and measured, his eyes stay open for as long they can—like he’s taking in the moments and relishing every single one—and he smiles smiles _smiles_ in a way that makes Youngjae’s chest clench.  
  
“Sorry,” he whispers, loud enough for Junhong to hear.  
  
He's tempted to offer excuses, but blaming it all on his assignments and how he’s just so busy lately seems cheap somehow. He skims helplessly through his brain for another liable explanation, grasping at empty words with his brows furrowed, but the tightened grip around his wrist halts him in the process. Junhong's eyes are locked on his as the younger shakes his head and shrugs: he's never needed an explanation before, he definitely isn't going to start now.  
  
There's that feeling again, like his heartstrings are being tugged and he's falling a little too hard. Youngjae quells it, quickly presses another kiss onto Junhong's welcoming lips and holds him deep into the night, lulled by nothing but the sound of their breathing. It feels like hours before they speak again, but when they do Youngjae's words are hushed, almost as if he's afraid of breaking something profound, and Junhong lets out a soft, amused chuckle that earns him a painful slap on his arm.  
  
“How's school?” Junhong asks, eyes bright and curious, like he hasn't just spent the last two months at the bottom of Youngjae's priorities.  
  
“Like hell, but I'm surviving.” Youngjae tries not to think, because any topic even briefly connected to the idea of his studies always brings him back to the assignment that he's left untouched for days—something that he promised Daehyun would _remain_ untouched, at least until he's finished healing his abused eyes and rids off the hideous bags forming under them. “What about you?”  
  
Junhong has these things... _Periodic Check Ups_ , Youngjae thinks they're called, but it's really just another name for surprise evaluations. They usually consist of people dropping by the school and giving a mandatory lecture or two, but sometimes there are special dates and events; mini-concerts where sponsors would all attend in droves to check on the results of their investments.  
  
He remembers Junhong whining about it a year back, when extra practice sessions led to him being stuck in the dorms for the weekend. Juniors didn't actually need to put in that much effort, but it was also Jongup's graduation performance and Junhong had volunteered to help out as his dance partner to ensure that everything ran smoothly. It was a nice gesture, honestly, but it didn't stop Youngjae from spending the whole night annoying Junhong by texting wishes of mock grief for the younger boy's plight. The joy ended up being short-lived, because Himchan turned up a day later and demanded that everyone be with their two dongsaengs throughout practice as a show of moral support, which led to them holding up embarrassing homemade banners for a beaming Jongup and a flustered Junhong in the morning and squeezing into the two's unfortunately small shared bedroom at night.  
  
With Junhong's graduation right around the corner, these things become major. One strong performance and a few sweet words from the instructor could mean that he's well on his way to being signed on to a major company. Youngjae's not entirely sure how the whole process works, but if Yongguk's praises are anything to go by, Junhong is a crowd favorite, and there will definitely be a lot of eyes on him during his end of term act.  
  
Youngjae doesn't know how he manages, because if it was him he'd definitely have cracked under all the pressure by now. But this is Junhong they're talking about and the kid is a lot tougher than he looks, so he just shrugs lightly and says, “Everything's fine.”  
  
The answer is expected, but Youngjae pokes anyway, searching for cracks in Junhong's armor of self confidence. “Are you scared?”  
  
Junhong blinks before his eyes dart off to find Youngjae's, and he stares for so long that Youngjae actually begins to suspect that he's going to break down. He doesn't though, only responds with another shrug and a curious smile.  
  
“A little, I guess,” he answers honestly, “But there are scarier things.”  
  
Youngjae would ask, but Junhong pulls him in before he could.

 

-

  
As it turns out, Youngjae's sudden dose of affection only manages to hold Junhong back for another night. The next morning finds Junhong packing again, and Youngjae watches as the former steals one of his many backpacks and stuffs his things in. They don't talk about it until late in the afternoon when Junhong gently puts a hand on Youngjae's shoulder while one of his textbooks threatens to curse him to sleep, and Youngjae looks up and sees Junhong signaling to the door.  
  
“I should leave,” Junhong begins, “Before it gets too late.”  
  
“Oh,” is all Youngjae can respond with before he stands up and walks him to the front door.  
  
Junhong apparently doesn't know what to do with himself either, because he loiters uselessly outside the door, looking torn between wordlessly walking away or offering some lame words of parting. It doesn't usually work that way when there's school, because both him and Youngjae have classes in the morning and they'll be too busy trying to make it to class on time to really bother with each other. “Um.” He tries lamely.  
  
“Here.” Youngjae slips something into his pocket, cutting him off in his speech before he can start babbling. Junhong fingers the notes, frowning at first in confusion, then in annoyance.  
  
“I don't—”  
  
“It's not Yongguk-hyung's.” Youngjae assures, though he purposely avoids mentioning that he sneaked those into one of the bag's compartments when Junhong isn't looking. If Junhong is unhappy about it, he can take it to the man himself. “It's mine.”  
  
The frown doesn't ease. “But you don't have—”  
  
“Emergency money. I have emergency money,” Youngjae reminds him. “I don't know about you, but sending a kid off knowing that he doesn't have enough cash to make it home sounds like an emergency to me.”  
  
“You don't have to, hyung.” Junhong doesn't act annoyed at being referred to as a kid like Youngjae expects him to, seemingly more concerned over the notes he's gripping in his hand. But he seems to know better than to try and return it, much to Youngjae's pleasure. “Thanks.” He breathes, biting his bottom lip hesitantly.  
  
“Go home and fix whatever it is that needs fixing.” Youngjae says, scratches the back of his head. He doesn't have any qualms about giving advice, but not when he's not privy to all sides of an argument. “I'm not sure what happened, but apologize to your parents, okay? I get that they're not the most agreeable people to have around most of the time--” He peers behind him cautiously as the words leave his mouth, making sure that his mom is not around to eavesdrop. “—but they usually mean well, and keeping yourself in their good graces make things a whole lot easier.”  
  
Junhong smiles gratefully, and Youngjae's glad someone is thankful because he has no idea what he's saying.  
  
“And—”  
  
Youngjae shouldn't, he really shouldn't. It'll make things harder on him, it'll make things harder on Junhong, and as if those aren't bad enough he'll also completely ruin any effect his (not so) wise advice procured. But he says it anyway. Youngjae might pride himself on being a rational-minded person, but even he has to admit that he's never actually been good at relying on reason when it comes to Junhong.  
  
“If you change your mind or if things don't work out, you can always come back.”  
  
Junhong's smile widens ever so slowly, but he still shakes his head. “Tomorrow's New Year's Eve. I wouldn't want to intrude on your family time.”  
  
And Youngjae thinks of all the times he spends the holidays in the library, drowned in the mountains of book he's stuck on reading for research, thinks of all the times Junhong sits beside him without a word of complaint even when Youngjae knows he's being too much of a workaholic, thinks of the moments where Junhong cancels a rare trip home because Youngjae's exams are approaching and he really doesn't want to go back even if that means the campus will be empty because he just can't concentrate as well at home.  
  
Youngjae can't help it. He snorts. “Junhong, _please_. We spent _weeks_ stuck with each other's company before and I didn't kick you out. What makes you think I'm going to start now?”  
  
 _You're family enough, aren't you?_ is what he doesn't say, but it doesn't matter because it's what both of them hears. Junhong looks away so quickly that if Youngjae doesn't know any better, he'll think that the younger boy disagrees. He doesn't though. It's something that Junhong hates to admit, but Youngjae knows that he tears up pretty easily in these sorts of situations.  
  
“Charge your stupid phone.” Youngjae says. A reprieve, more likely; he doesn't think Junhong wants to talk. He still has his pride, after all.  
  
Junhong makes a sound to show that he hears. He still has his face turned away. It makes Youngjae smile.

 

-

  
It's frustrating how Junhong seems so intent on keeping his phone dead.  
  
Youngjae tosses the device to the bed and hangs up a new calendar on his wall.

 

-

 

Classes start again two weeks later, and it's easy to forget about Junhong and his surprise holiday visit when Youngjae has three assignments due within the same week. He begins work as soon as he's finished unpacking his luggage, slaving away in the library when it's open and drowning himself in unhealthy amounts of coffee in his room when it's not. He thinks he sees Daehyun on the way to classes sometimes, with one hand always raised for an enthusiastic wave, but it's kind of hard to tell when you're constantly stuck in a state in between being awake and asleep, and everything that's not related to his project tends to blur and subsequently erased from his memory.  
  
Final year projects kill. Maybe taking a 100% coursework-assessed year isn't such a good idea after all.  
  
By the time the last of his papers is submitted, there are bags under his eyes that would put pandas to shame, his hair is unruly and probably greasy too from lack of care, and his room is littered with so many books and papers that he can no longer see the floor. He doesn't think it's possible for anyone to look any worse, but then Junhong knocks on his door and charges in as soon as the it's open, and he's proven wrong.  
  
“Whoa,” he manages between open-mouthed stares and blatant disbelief, “You look awful.”  
  
“Thanks,” Junhong answers easily, settled comfortably on Youngjae's bed with this arm wrapped around a pillow. “You don't look so good yourself.”  
  
Youngjae joins him on the bed, too tired to even attempt to throw him off like he usually does. He asks “where'd you come from?” when his question really should be _where have you been?_ He doesn't correct himself.  
  
“Extra practice.” Junhong's reply is muffled, his face now stuffed into the pillow.  
  
Youngjae lazily opens his eyes, dragging them to look at the alarm clock beside his bed; it was thirty minutes to midnight. “This late?” he asks, frowning. “And the reason you chose to head here instead of the dorms is...?”  
  
Junhong makes a small sound from the back of his throat. It sounds suspiciously similar to a whine. “Hyung, can we not? I'm just really exhausted.”  
  
He _looks_ exhausted. In fact, Youngjae doesn't remember ever seeing him appear so tired—which is a pretty impressive feat, because the last time he saw Junhong after a four hour dance session, the kid still had enough energy to goad Youngjae into buying him dinner.  
  
Youngjae shrugs and turns off the lights.

 

-

  
When Youngjae finds Junhong doing handstands across the bed the next morning, he doesn't even blink.  
  
He's seen weirder stuffs. At least this time it's not the music-less Dougie.  
  
“Morning,” he greets as he groggily makes his way out of the bed.  
  
Junhong looks up—down?--at him, adjusting his balance on one hand before he offers him a proper smile. “Morning.” He croaks, voice hoarse from sleep. He probably practiced his routine the moment his eyes snapped open. How typically Junhong.  
  
He strides past the younger boy with purposeful steps, stopping when he reaches the studio's kitchen area and grabbing the packet of ready-made pancake batter his mom had helpfully supplied him with before he returned, an attempt to make sure that he doesn't accidentally kill himself from starvation. Youngjae would say she's overreacting, Junhong would beg to differ.  
  
(It's not like Junhong has the right to complain. Just because someone's workload isn't remotely academic doesn't mean that they're any less of a workaholic.)  
  
He's not a particularly good cook, but even his non-existent culinary abilities are milestones better than Junhong's—who in their right minds can manage to burn instant soup anyways?--and as bad as he is, he figures he'll still have a hard enough time ruining something that's more than halfway done.  
  
Junhong is magically able to drift back to sleep upside down, so when he's done preparing Youngjae not-so-lightly taps on his thigh and watches as the dancer collapses and makes a mess out of his own limbs.  
  
“Breakfast,” he says simply. Junhong shoots him a miserable glare.  
  
They're in the middle of stuffing themselves with food when Junhong says, nonchalantly, “I have a job.”  
  
Youngjae's surprise would no doubt be reflected on his face in a less ugly way if it isn't for the fact that he's currently rotting his teeth with an absurd amount of maple syrup. He swallows, tries not to choke, and stares. Junhong resumes eating like nothing is out of place. He's been doing that a lot lately.  
  
“Huh,” he manages finally. “A job where?”  
  
“A convenience store on most days,” Junhong says. “Sometimes I help out in the dance studio. Or help Yongguk-hyung record sample tracks.”  
  
It takes a while for his mind to compute the sentence. “You have _jobs_ ,” he corrects.  
  
Junhong shrugs.  
  
“So how do you manage?”  
  
“Manage what?”  
  
Youngjae looks at him with an expression of disbelief. “Your graduation performance? You know, that thing that might possibly determine your whole career?”  
  
Another shrug.  
  
“I'm managing.”  
  
“ _Junhong_.”  
  
“No, really, hyung. I am.” Junhong's gaze is hardened, determined. “Don't worry about it. You have a whole lot of other things on your plate.”  
  
Youngjae is almost offended. “Like what?”  
  
Junhong raises an eyebrow questioningly. “Your work?”  
  
“That doesn't mean I'm completely cut off from the world.”  
  
“Funny, that.” Junhong says, tone strangely detached. Youngjae hates it. “That's not how it looked like to me these past few weeks.”  
  
Youngjae's eyes narrow into slits, his patience wearing thin.  
  
“If you had wanted something,” he says coolly, though his expression is anything but. “You could have tried _asking_.”  
  
They're treading on dangerous grounds now, trapped in a mutual deadlock. Junhong seems lost, like he isn't sure how they managed to get themselves here. There's a desperate look in his eyes that would have prompted Youngjae to give in on any other day, but he's a little more than just slightly pissed off and maybe that warrants some cool down time.  
  
“Hyung,” Junhong whispers after a long while, and he sounds scared and so, so vulnerable. “I'm sorry.”  
  
Youngjae isn't quite sure how to react, but he sighs anyway, rests his elbows on the table and covers his face with the palm of his hands. “Me too.” He replies in between the splitting headache that threatens to form in his head. “Forget about it.”  
  
“Just trust me, okay?”  
  
Youngjae nods. A heavy feeling settles at the pit of his stomach. He tries to fight it down.  
  
They don't talk about it later, but there's a truce of sorts. Junhong sleeps over at his place most days, tired and sometimes half asleep on his feet, but he makes a marked effort of giving Youngjae a reassuring smile to show that _i'm fine_ and say things like _today's practice went well_ or _i'm really not overworking myself, hyung_. Youngjae tries to stop working a few minutes earlier, early enough to bid the other goodnight before he goes to bed at least, and Junhong keeps implying that he doesn't need the attention but he isn't quite able to hide how his smile grows just a little bit wider every time.  
  
He's not sure if it's completely settled, whatever _it_ is, but it's better than nothing.

 

-

  
Trust is a fickle thing.  
  
There's definitely a limit to how much hold you should have on someone before you completely smother them, but pay too little attention and it transforms into too little care and Youngjae isn't entirely sure how to balance the scale. Sometimes Jongup would mention one of the many awards Junhong won in school and Youngjae wished Junhong would share a bit more, invite him to more of his shows even if he really _did_ know next to nothing about hip hop and rap. But then he'd wonder if he'd be too clingy if he requested, if perhaps Junhong didn't invite him because he needed some time to himself, and Youngjae attempting to force an invitation out of him would just make things horribly awkward.  
  
And sometimes there's sharing too much. Sure it wasn't exactly Youngjae's fault, and he would continue to push all blame on Daehyun till his very death, but there's something wrong about the way Junhong tries to cover every involuntary wince when Daehyun goes off to spout about their 'drunken escapade', about how they were so completely wasted that even a monkey would look attractive, about how they ended up kissing each other in the sloppiest manner possible, with way too much tongue and teeth, and the experience was apparently so horrifying that as soon as their lips parted Daehyun had turned around and barfed all over the living room floor.  
  
“It didn't mean anything,” Youngjae felt compelled to explain, even though Junhong did nothing to indicate that he misunderstood in any way. “Just a stupid kiss. We were drunk. And Daehyun is hideous.”  
  
“Oh.” Junhong responded blankly. “Yeah. Okay.”  
  
The thought that his words weren't perhaps the most comforting of explanations didn't occur until later, when Youngjae remembered that his and Junhong's relationship was started more or less the same way, triggered by nothing more than an act carried out on the spur of the moment. He might have tried to commit mind suicide.  
  
It got to a point where their lack of proper communication became downright unsettling, so one day Youngjae seated Junhong in front of him and gave the boy a long, hard look.  
  
“Let's be more honest with each other,” he said, determined. “If you don't like something, tell me. If you want me to do anything, just say it out loud.”  
  
Junhong looked confused more than anything, but he nodded anyway.  
  
Here's the thing: making promises like these is easy, but it's not going to go anywhere if they don't actually talk.  
  
The fact that their relationship didn't change much even after it grew into something more becomes problematic when one considers that they hadn't really been close friends in the first place. Sure Junhong jokes around and acts all brattish at times, but it isn't the easy banter he shares with Jongup, not one that completely disregards age boundaries and puts the two on equal footing. Youngjae lacks the gravity that pulls Junhong towards Yongguk and the friendliness that warms Junhong up to Daehyun, nor does he share Himchan's persistence in clawing his way into another person's life until he becomes a natural part of it. It's easy for him to take Junhong's hand in his, easy to pull Junhong closer until they're only just inches apart, but similarly it's difficult for them to fall into a mindless, casual conversation, hard for them to become friends. Most of their time together is spent basking in each other's easy silence.  
  
Junhong never did say anything about Youngjae and Daehyun, even after being given explicit rights to complain, so Youngjae decided not to pry about his school life.  
  
Maybe trust isn't about certainty. Maybe it means understanding, without the need for questions. Maybe it's believing that Junhong has everything under control.  
  
Maybe it works something like this.

 

-

  
“Youngjae!” Daehyun tackles him on the way back from class, arms slung around Youngjae's shoulder before he leaned against the latter. Youngjae stumbles in his steps and curses, trying hard not to fall. “I'm dying. Help me.”  
  
Daehyun looks like he came back from a date with the Devil himself—which he probably has, really, because honestly school does appear a bit like hell right now—so instead of pushing him away like how he does on any other day, Youngjae decides to be merciful and drags Daehyun back to his apartment. He's pretty sure Daehyun falls asleep on the way there; the weight on his shoulder gets increasingly heavier and Daehyun isn't even walking by the time they get to the front door. Youngjae sighs, makes a mental note to get Daehyun to treat him to lunch, and dumps him on the bedroom floor.  
  
Daehyun wakes up seven hours later near midnight and lets out an agonized wail.  
  
“Oh my god,” he exclaims, wiping non-existent tears from his eyes. “You left me on the floor.”  
  
Youngjae rolls his eyes. “It's carpeted.”  
  
Daehyun doesn't shut up.  
  
“Why can't you treat me like Junhong?” he asks mournfully, “I've known you longer! Is this all our friendship is worth!?”  
  
“If you don't stop whining, I'll kick you out right now,” Youngjae snaps, mostly because he's reading through some research papers and Daehyun's antics is messing with his concentration. “And what the hell are you talking about? Junhong sleeps on the floor too, when he stays over.”  
  
He doesn't necessarily stay there till morning, but that's something Youngjae doesn't bother mentioning. It doesn't really matter. Daehyun doesn't buy it anyway.  
  
“You steal him from me every other night! It's so lonely being alone in the apartment, you know.”  
  
Youngjae looks away from the papers and gives Daehyun an odd look. “You've been without a flatmate since forever.”  
  
Daehyun snorts.  
  
“I know,” he's saying, voice still overly dramatic but his expression teasing. “Which makes it all the more tragic that it's still the same even after the space has been filled.”  
  
Youngjae is downright staring now but Daehyun doesn't seem to have noticed, his mouth still stuck in that playful smirk of his. For once, Youngjae's the one who's slow on the uptake.  
  
“Daehyun,” he tries, slowly. “You don't have a flatmate.” _Supposedly_.  
  
“Yeah, yeah, okay. Junhong is _your_ roommate and only occasionally sleeps over at my place. You don't have to rub it—” his voice trails off when he sees the look on Youngjae's face, and Daehyun's features scrounged up in confusion before something finally dawns on him. “Oh.” He says weakly, fidgeting from toe to toe in apparent discomfort. “Oh. You weren't joking.”  
  
“Wasn't even aware there was something to joke about.”  
  
The look Daehyun gives him now is judging, mixed with heavy doses of surprise and disbelief. It makes Youngjae feel a little bit raw, a little bit exposed, like he's done something so gravely wrong that it's a sin for him not to be aware of it. As if on reflex, his gaze shifts to face the floor, cheeks burning with the heat of something that feels uncomfortably close to shame.  
  
“So, wait, how much do you know?”  
  
Youngjae takes a breath, thumb pressing lightly against his temple as he prepares for the onslaught of questions Daehyun will probably throw his way, before he asks. “How much do I know about what?”  
  
Daehyun stares at him, slack-jawed.  
  
Youngjae feels dumb.  
  
“You know,” he starts, gathering the papers that fell to the floor in a slightly haphazard manner, “Forget about it. I'm not going to bother.”  
  
Thankfully, Daehyun decides to listen to instructions, opting to quietly go through the fridge to find something to eat. Youngjae turns his attention back to his work, frowning lightly as he furiously scribbles down important points in his notepad. (If Youngjae's being completely honest, he'll admit that there's little point in writing down much about anything anymore. He's gripping the pen too firmly, his handwriting is borderline unintelligible and sometimes he presses down so hard against the paper as he writes that it rips.)  
  
“Hey,” Daehyun calls to him, voice strangely soft. “It'll be alright.”  
  
And Youngjae has no doubt that it will be, but that doesn't stop the sudden pang of pain in his chest, like someone had curled their fingers around his heart and squeezed it too tight.

 

-

  
The next time Junhong sleeps over, Youngjae lets his fingers comb through the strands of Junhong's hair.  
  
“How's dorm life treating you?”  
  
“Fine,” Junhong replies, resting his head on the curves of Youngjae's shoulder. “Same as ever.”  
  
His movement stills.

 

-

  
Himchan is loud and annoying and nags way too much for his own good, but Himchan also doesn't judge, which is why Youngjae finds himself downing beer after beer in the comforts of Himchan's living room, willing the alcohol to steal the last of his coherent thoughts away. It doesn't seem to work, and Youngjae is still irritatingly sober.  
  
“Yongguk told you to talk to him,” Himchan chides as he pries a can away from Youngjae's searching hands. “You chose not to.”  
  
Youngjae doesn't reply, fiddling with a stray thread from his sweater.  
  
“Why won't you listen to hyung's words?” the older man mutters under his breath, stuffing the cans into a rubbish bag and furiously pinching a layer of Youngjae's stomach fat when he tries to consume more alcohol into his system.  
  
When he's still greeted by a stretch of silence, Himchan sighs.  
  
“I know people need their own space,” Himchan tells him. “But I think you're giving too much of it.”  
  
Jongup arrives then, that cheerful smile forever plastered on his face, and brings the dinner Himchan requested him to buy with the excuse that he's stuck with 'babysitting duties'. (Youngjae had given him a dirty look, but this is Himchan's turf and Himchan's rules and he really doesn't want to get chased out, so he doesn't bother.)  
  
Jongup aims his smile at Youngjae in greeting, and Youngjae's expression significantly darkens. He might have furrowed his eyebrows and looked away with a tense quirk of his lips—and that's exactly what it is: a quirk, too stiff and insincere to be called a proper smile—because _of course_ Jongup knows, of course Junhong would tell the ever gentle, ever reliable senior things that he would never tell Youngjae because really, when has it ever been any different?  
  
And on a normal day, Youngjae would wallow down the feelings, flash a shit-eating grin and pretend that everything's fine. But the alcohol must be messing with his head more than he thinks and even though he's not drunk he's still feeling the slightest bit tipsy, so he turns to Jongup, presses an accusing finger to his chest and gnarls, “I hate you.”  
  
Instead of acting shocked or offended like any normal person would, Jongup chuckles. _Chuckles_ , as if he Youngjae just cracked a particularly amusing joke.  
  
It wasn't a joke. Youngjae doesn't hate him maliciously, but he _does_ hate him, in an odd roundabout sort of way. And he meant every word he said. Jongup doesn't seem to understand the gravity of the situation, so Youngjae tells him about his feelings.  
  
“Okay,” Jongup says, still smiling, and Youngjae thinks maybe that's why he and Junhong get along so well. They're both insufferable brats. “Have you told Junhong that?”  
  
Youngjae makes a face, affronted. “ _No_.”  
  
“You should,” Jongup hums. “He'll find it funny.”  
  
“And sweet too,” Himchan quips unhelpfully. Youngjae glares.  
  
“Funny like how he kept me in the dark, you mean?” He tries hard not to show it, but the bitterness creeps into his voice anyways.  
  
To his surprise, Himchan merely rolls his eyes.  
  
“Don't flatter yourself. He kept _everyone_ in the dark.”  
  
“... Huh?”  
  
“You heard me,” Himchan drawls slowly, like he thinks Youngjae is stupid. “He didn't tell anyone anything. We found out from Yongguk, through his family friend privileges.”  
  
Youngjae finds himself looking at Jongup for some sort of confirmation, and the latter nods. “Not a single word to me, hyung,” he assures.  
  
And Youngjae thinks, frowns, pauses for a few minutes to take it all in, before granting the two the most intelligent response his brain can muster. “... What?”  
  
Himchan smacks his head—he's not sure with what, exactly, but it fucking _hurts_ —and, after Youngjae groans in pain, messes with his hair. “It means the only person Junhong approached, however minimally, was you, you big idiot.” Himchan lets out a string of colourful curses under his breath. “I swear all that studying must have dulled your brain somehow.”  
  
“But,” Youngjae protests, confused. “He didn't tell me anything.”  
  
“Yeah, well, we've established that you're not exactly the sharing type either.”  
  
Jongup, luckily, is a patient person, and thus is much more helpful with his advice. “He went all the way to your house, hyung. He must have wanted to hint at _something_.”  
  
And Youngjae remembers how Junhong leaned in a little closer, held on a bit longer to Youngjae's touches, how he sneaked under his sheets and pulled him down on the first day, how surprisingly generous he was with his affections, even if he did find it hard still to put that into words. And it occurs to him for the first time that maybe Junhong didn't turn up at his place just because he's the one most unlikely to ask questions. Maybe he was there because Junhong can reach out to entangle his fingers with Youngjae's and knows he'll receive a reassuring squeeze in response; it's for the fact that Youngjae can offer comfort that no one else can give to quite the same degree.  
  
He wonders if he let Junhong down.  
  
He heaves out a shaky laugh.  
  
“I don't know what I should do.”  
  
Jongup gives his back a light pat.  
  
“Sometimes Junhong needs a little push,” Jongup reminds him. “You need to confront him. Push him around a bit. Force the truth out of his mouth.”  
  
“Don't worry, Youngjae. It's nothing you haven't done before.”

 

-

  
What happened in between was this:  
  
The more Youngjae tried to speak to Junhong, the more the latter shied away. He was probably tired of running into dead ends in conversations, wary of the awkward laughs that stretched into uncomfortable silence. Junhong has always been bad in making conversation, but Youngjae's insistence in forcing topics upon topics on him and his inability to respond with something longer than a sentence served as a painful reminder of all the evaluating stares he received as a kid, when people took turns cracking jokes or making witty comments and the only thing he could do was smile awkwardly in return.  
  
The easiest way out was to just stop visiting Yongguk whenever Youngjae was around, so that was what he did. Jongup looked at him thoughtfully whenever he offered excuses not to go, but he just smiled and said _okay_ before going on his way, something Junhong was grateful for. But every time he came back, Jongup would mention something along the lines of ' _Youngjae-hyung asked about you_ ' and Junhong would frown and look away and wonder why he was trying so hard.  
  
What happened was Junhong loitering around Yongguk's place on a non-tutoring day, and when the doorbell rang and Yongguk was in the shower he went ahead and opened the front door because it was early and he remembered Yongguk mentioning something about a package. He didn't expect to find Youngjae standing outside, refreshed and full from a quick visit back to his parents', a plastic bag in hand. Junhong eyes went wide when he saw the figure in front of him, and he gaped and stared before realizing how stupid he looked. Youngjae luckily seemed too surprised to care.  
  
“Hi,” Junhong said quickly, awkwardly, and his cheeks flushed red.  
  
“Hey,” Youngjae replied, looking as out of place as Junhong did. He handed the bag over to him. “Here. My mom packed too much again.”  
  
“Erm...” Junhong fidgeted, taking the bag from Youngjae's grip. “Thanks.”  
  
“Yeah, sure.”  
  
It took him a moment before Junhong realized that Youngjae was probably wondering where Yongguk went, and he was about to open his mouth to explain before Youngjae cut in.  
  
“Do you hate me or something?”  
  
Junhong blinked, expression changing into one of shock when he hurriedly says, “no, no, I don't hate you. I just—” Junhong stumbled on his words, wrecking his brain for a way to fix this.  
  
“Don't like me that much?” Youngjae offered helpfully, a tight smile on his lips. “Whatever it is, it's a feeling strong enough to get you to avoid me.”  
  
“Hyung,” he said, voice desperate, “That's not it at all.”  
  
“It's alright. If it's worth anything, I'm sorry for making you uncomfortable. You don't have to force yourself.”  
  
“ _No_!” he cried out, apparently with so much force that Youngjae took a step back, surprised. “You don't get it. I'm just,” Junhong made wild, elaborate gestures with his hands that really meant nothing, “... bad...” His hands froze in midair, as if he only just noticed what he was doing, and he shyly put them back down, “... with people.” He finished lamely. “I really don't hate you.”  
  
“Oh.”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“Um...” Youngjae cleared his throat, laughing somewhat nervously. “I'm really not that great of a conversationalist either?”  
  
Junhong stared at him in surprise. “You aren't?”  
  
Youngjae's laughter resounded through the hallway, less forced and tinged with amusement. “If I am, I'm pretty sure I wouldn't have scared you away.”  
  
“You didn't—”  
  
“It's fine, it's fine,” Youngjae told him, waving a hand in a dismissive manner, “I'm still sorry. I guess we started off on the wrong foot.” Youngjae began to turn away from the door. “Anyway, I need to get going before Daehyun steals all the food. I guess I'll see you...?”  
  
Junhong nodded, vigorous, and Youngjae smiled.  
  
“Right. See you then.”  
  
Guilt started to seep in once he realized that Youngjae was the only one trying so hard all this while, so the next time Junhong went over to Yongguk's with the entire group there, he packed some of his favourite CDs—Youngjae doesn't like rap or hip hop, Junhong recalled, but he seemed partial to R &B and Junhong heard him hum a familiar tune or two under his breath when he thought no one was listening—and handed them over to Youngjae for him to borrow.  
  
“... Thank you?”  
  
It was hard to articulate his words— _hey i'm sorry let's start over these are some of my favourite albums i hear you singing sometimes and your voice is amazing and i think you'll like these i especially like this singer how about you_ —so he settled for a short, “Tell me if you like them.”  
  
And it was probably somewhere around then when Youngjae started to pick up the words that Junhong left unsaid. He didn't always get it right and he definitely didn't know Junhong as well as he does now, but he tries and he's always patient and he never seemed frustrated every time Junhong trips all over his words.  
  
When Youngjae saw him again the next week, he returned Junhong's CDs and supplied some of his own.  
  
“I like these ones,” he pointed at a few albums, “And I brought some of my favourites because they're more or less the same type. Have you heard of Musiq Soulchild? I think his music is amazing. How about you?”  
  
Junhong fell a little then.  
  
(And once the ground has opened up and swallowed you whole, there's really no other choice but to go deeper.)

 

-

  
Youngjae always tries his hardest to stay away from Junhong's school, hates it for the sole reason that people always mistake him as a student instead of a visitor, so he's not exactly offended when Junhong has to look thrice before he realizes that yes, that is indeed Youngjae standing outside the school gate waiting for him. When Junhong makes his way over, there's a happy smile playing on his lips, but he doesn't look any less puzzled.  
  
“Hyung?” he says, pleasure oozing out of the tone of his voice, “What are you doing here?”  
  
And Youngjae thinks he probably should think of some sort of excuse, build up an appropriate mood before he walks Junhong back to Daehyun's place, reveal that he kind of knows what's going on and slowly coax the story out of him. But his nerves are all over the place and he blurts out, “I get jealous of Jongup sometimes. Did you know that?”  
  
There's an odd silence as Junhong completely freezes, eyes widening in surprise.  
  
“No,” he softly utters after what feels like a long while, “No, I didn't.”  
  
“Well, I do,” Youngjae feels like dying, the embarassment weighing heavily on his shoulders. “You talk to him so easily. I kind of wish you'd do the same to me. I know it's stupid, and I'm not forcing you to do anything about it... I'm just saying. Just for you to know.”  
  
Junhong appears flustered, like he's not quite sure how to react. Youngjae continues before he can.  
  
“I wish you'd invite me to more of your performances too. There's little point in saying this now when you're almost graduating, but I would have liked to see you on stage more, you know.”  
  
Youngjae feels rather than sees Junhong's soft gaze on him.  
  
“I thought you wouldn't be interested.”  
  
Youngjae shrugs. “Still not that much of a hip hop fan.” _But I like watching you._  
  
(Some words are still too hard to say.)  
  
“I secretly like it when you don't go back home to stay with me. It's bad and stupid and selfish, and I know I always say I don't need the company, but I like it anyway.”  
  
Junhong laughs, eyes twinkling. “I know, hyung. I can tell.”  
  
“And,” Youngjae takes a deep breath, heaving out with a shaky exhale, “We don't really say much because we don't need to, and I know you told me to trust you. But words are important, Junhong-ah, and I just...” He stops, flabbergasted. “... Shit, sorry, I don't know what I wanted to say.”  
  
“It's okay,” Junhong tells him. “I do.”  
  
A pause.  
  
“Is there something you'd like to tell me?” Youngjae tries.  
  
“I guess you found out,” Junhong gives him a tired smile. “It's not that bad, really.”  
  
Youngjae takes Junhong's hand in his. Junhong smiles and tells him everything.

 

-

  
Junhong's birthday fell on a weekend, so he packed his bags and made his way home to his dad's proud smile, his mom's welcoming arms and a table filled with his favourite dishes. He grinned his way through dinner and stuffed himself with so much food he could literally feel himself expanding, and as a treat to the hyungs who had gotten him absolutely nothing for his birthday, he sent a picture of the homemade dishes through his phone, complete with a detailed summary on how each and every food tasted.  
  
 _You're a jerk_ , Youngjae replied, _Daehyun swears not to talk to you for a year._  
  
At night, his mom went into his room and ran a hand through his hair, treating him like the little boy she still imagined him to be. She kissed his cheek and hugged him tight, and Junhong squirmed and complained and cried out _mom, I'm eighteen!_ in anguish. Truthfully, he didn't mind that much. He knew how much his parents had to give up to send him to a school in Seoul. Even if the tuition fees are all covered for, daily expenses and accommodation fees could still climb pretty high and Junhong knew that the reduced portion of food on his parents' plates weren't because they had no appetite.  
  
“I'm so, so proud of what you've become,” his mom told him, arms still wrapped around him for a tight hug. “I love you for everything you are.”  
  
He was aware that it was just a figure of speech, but an uneasy feeling settled at the pit of his stomach. He thought of Youngjae and his soft kisses, of how he spent the last two years crazily in love with someone he couldn't acknowledge to exist outside the four walls of Youngjae's room. He bit his bottom lip, hesitant, and it crossed his mind that his mother doesn't love him for everything he is yet, not when he kept such a big part of him a secret, but perhaps she could.  
  
So he gripped her arm tight and told her.  
  
Her reaction wasn't what he expected.  
  
“What are you saying?” she asked, repeatedly, panicked and completely unlike the calm person Junhong had known her to be.  
  
“... Mom?”  
  
“Don't tell your dad,” she hissed, frantic, “No matter what you do, don't tell your dad.”  
  
She left his room in a rush, and Junhong was stuck in his room with the bitter taste of regret.  
  
Before he set off for Seoul the next morning, his mom pulled him into another hug, except this one was desperate and she was sobbing into his chest. His dad thought she was emotional over the thought of seperation, Junhong knew better.  
  
“It's okay,” she whispered in his ear, soft enough that it escaped his dad's attention. “We'll get over this. I'll fix it somehow.”  
  
 _What's there to fix?_ He wanted to ask, but wisely kept his mouth shut.

 

-

  
He wanted to share with Youngjae, ask if perhaps he'd done something gravely wrong, wondered if there was any way to 'fix' the situation. But it was hard, because Youngjae kept being buried by his endless piles of courseworks and when his face wasn't hidden behind the screen of his laptop, he'd be half dead on the bed. Junhong stayed close, buying coffee on his way back from school and making sure that Youngjae at least put it some snack in his mouth so he wouldn't starve.  
  
Youngjae didn't say much, but he saw the look on his face, how Youngjae looked at him like he was some kind of blessing, and Junhong couldn't bring himself to say anything.

 

-

  
He didn't know what happened; perhaps his mom cracked under the pressure, or maybe his dad just figured out for himself, but when he came back for Christmas Holidays, everything felt different. The various posters of the male hiphop groups he had pinned up on his wall were gone. His parents greeted him as they always did, but there was something odd about the way they looked at him, and Junhong spent nearly every second of each day feeling like he was being scrutinized.  
  
 _Do you have a second?_ He texted Youngjae when it felt like too much, hiding in the comforts of his room.  
  
 _Finishing off some things before Christmas, sorry. Is it important?_  
  
 _No, not really._  
  
It wasn't like everything could be solved if he just talked about it.  
  
 _Text you later then._  
  
Except he never did. After a while, Junhong got tired of waiting. He stopped charging his phone, and pretended that the fact the phone was dead made the lack of new messages sting less.

 

-

  
They never really mentioned anything about it again, and that made things a thousand times worse. Eventually, though, Yongguk came to visit. As a trusted family friend, he was probably asked to knock some sense into Junhong's head, but Junhong was way too relieved over the thought of having a friend around to actually care. Yongguk had always known, anyway. Whatever it was that Yongguk wanted to say, it wasn't something that would ridicule him.  
  
The minute the door closed behind Yongguk, Junhong beamed.  
  
“I think I fucked things up.”  
  
Yongguk's smile is tense, but it was there all the same. “Are you okay?”  
  
“As fine as I'll ever be, I guess?”  
  
Their conversations started trivially enough, with Yongguk recounting how Himchan had single-handedly spiced up the company's end of year dinner by setting the cake on fire. But then Yongguk's expression turned grave, and Junhong had to look away.  
  
“It's not too late,” Yongguk said. “For you to change your mind. Break things off. Tell your parents you ended everything. They'll come around eventually.” A pause. “You're still so young.”  
  
“I can't, hyung,” he uttered gently. “You know I can't.”  
  
Yongguk let out a heavy sigh.  
  
“You still have us, you know.”

 

-

  
A day after Christmas, Junhong sat on the other end of the couch as his dad duly read the morning paper. He took the sight in: the steaming coffee mug on the table in front of him, the slight hunch of the old man's back, the way his glasses slowly slid off the bridge of his nose. He would then ask, carefully: “Are you ashamed?”  
  
His dad let out a grunt that meant he really wanted nothing but to leave the topic alone, but Junhong didn't relent, eyes never leaving the old man until he finally straightened his back and huffed.  
  
“No, I'm not. You're just sick,” he muttered, “We'll wait it out. It'll be over before you know it.”  
  
Junhong closed his eyes, smiled, and willed back the tears.  
  
“Thank you,” he whispered, and meant it.  
  
Because at the very least, his parents loved him enough to keep him.

 

-

  
The next day, Junhong left for Seoul with his return ticket at the break of dawn before his parents woke up.  
  
While on his way, he regretted his decision too many times to count. There was nothing he'd like more than to turn back, walk all the way home and curl up in his own bed. He could live with being 'cured' and spending the rest of his life measuring up to his parents' expectations if it meant he would still have them around.  
  
By the time he was standing in front of Youngjae's front door, he had made up his mind to cut off all ties and then go straight back home. He could do it. And even though it might take him a while, Youngjae would understand. Junhong has Yongguk around to help explain himself, after all.  
  
But then he rang the bell and watched as Youngjae's surprise morphed into easy acceptance, watched as he wordlessly moved to let Junhong in without asking for a single word of explanation in return.  
  
“Hyung,” he greeted instead, “Hi.”  
  
When Youngjae offered him a home, Junhong fell all over again.

 

-

  
Himchan, Daehyun and Jongup had no qualms with him running away from home. They only had issues against the amount of information Youngjae was privy to.  
  
Himchan was awake far too early, and Junhong only heard the shrills of _you need to tell him_ or _he has a right to know_ before he falls back to sleep again, Youngjae's phone perched on his shoulder.  
  
“CHOI JUNHONG!”  
  
Junhong woke with a start, cursing Himchan and his loud voice. Youngjae grinned and pat his head.  
  
“We'll talk,” Junhong told him, “Eventually.”  
  
The reason he wouldn't tell, Junhong kept insisting, was because he didn't want to trouble Youngjae anymore than he had to. Youngjae's hands were full enough even without adding in Junhong's load, any more and the older boy will probably collapse from all the stress.  
  
Truth is, Junhong is a lot more selfish. He didn't want to trouble Youngjae, sure, but more than anything he was afraid that Youngjae would decide that Junhong was more trouble than he's worth and leave.  
  
Junhong could only handle losing a handful of people at one time.

 

-

  
“I won't be back until mid-January, but I keep an extra key under the carpet,” Daehyun was saying on the phone. “Help yourself.”  
  
“Thanks,” Junhong replied. He turned away from Youngjae and covered the receiver with his hand. “I'll pay my share, hyung.”  
  
“Nah, you don't have to. I've been managing fine on my own for nearly two years anyway.”  
  
“No, really,” Junhong insisted, frowning lightly. “I should start... you know... being more independent.”  
  
A muffled sigh.  
  
“Only if it doesn't interrupt with school, Junhong-ah.”

 

-

  
“Are you scared?”  
  
So, so much. But not for the performance. Not when he has so many other things at stake.  
  
“A little, I guess. But there are scarier things.”  
  
He could have been completely alone.

 

-

  
When Junhong stops talking, Youngjae looks at him with a wry smile.  
  
“How is that 'not that bad'?”  
  
“They didn't kick me out from home or anything. I'm not even sure if they stopped banking in money into my account,” Junhong trails off. “It could have been worse.”  
  
Youngjae hears the words Junhong leaves unsaid, and what Junhong isn't saying is the fact that his parents doesn't seek him out, even after leaving home for that long. Junhong doesn't mention how he hasn't checked his account balance since leaving home, because while it's fine to delve into possibilities, he isn't quite prepared to face a reality where he might have been forfeited for good.  
  
Youngjae doesn't say a word, but when they get back, Youngjae kisses him long and hard and tells him, pointedly, “We'll work through this.”  
  
He doesn't say 'it's going to be okay' because he's not sure if they will be, but he's promising to be with him every step of the way and that's enough for now.

 

-

  
A year later, Junhong gets signed onto TS Entertainment, and Youngjae is the first person he runs to.  
  
Junhong still struggles with words and Youngjae still has black circles under his eyes, but it doesn't matter.  
  
They're okay.

 

-


End file.
